


We all yearn for reconciliation

by Sandel



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandel/pseuds/Sandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Arthur is dreaming, and Eames is in the dream, infuriating as ever. But is Eames a projection, or is he the real deal?</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	We all yearn for reconciliation

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a scene in a much longer Inception fic that I'm (slowly, slowly) working on. But no matter how much I edited it, I couldn't make it to fit into the chronology (and, partly, style) of that story. As I didn't want to let the scene go completely, I re-worked it into a one shot. If I ever get done with the longer story it might put some context to some of the lines of this fic, but I wouldn't go as far as to say that the two stories take place in the same continuities.
> 
> The title is, of course, a quote from the film.

Arthur leans back in his chair. It’s a low armchair in brown leather, sagging from use. Nobody but Arthur can sit completely comfortably in this chair – the shape of him is imprinted into it. Not that anyone else ever sits in it; no one else has access to this flat. He is _home_.

Then he hears the unmistakeable sound of a rattling keychain, and a key turning in a lock. Arthur is instantly pulled from relaxation to high alert. He hasn’t given his apartment keys to anyone, and he hasn’t shared a home with anyone since he broke it off with Nousha. Nousha… When he turns his head, his old girlfriend is sitting in a chair beside him, her thick black braid down her back, her full lips flashing him a very white smile. He looks away, wills her to disappear, and looks back. The projection is gone.

 _Ah, so this is a dream, then_ , Arthur thinks, relaxing a little. With footsteps approaching down the hall, he searches his pockets for his totem. He needs to check the loaded die’s weight and proportions, to see if it’s his _own_ dream or not. He finds the totem just as Eames enters the room. _Arthur’s_ room. In _Arthur’s_ flat. _Eames_.

“Hello, Arthur,” Eames says in his usual drawl, his voice lingering on the ‘A’. “Is this a bad time? For a moment I thought I saw a _beauteous_ lady…”

“This your dream?” Arthur interrupts him.

“I dunno. It could be, or I could just be a projection,” Eames says, smiling his _infuriating_ smile. “Do you often dream of me?”

“I don’t often dream.”

Arthur tries to suppress Eames the way he did Nousha, but he can’t. This _should_ mean that Eames isn’t a projection – but it _could_ mean that Arthur has gotten his very own Mal. That thought forces a strangled chuckle out of him. Eames raises his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur hurriedly asks, precluding any _spoken_ questions of Eames’.

“Cobb’s never going to do a job again, but you already know that, don’t you?” Eames answers. He sits down on Arthur’s bed and rests his arms on his knees.

The answer may seem like a non sequitur, but Arthur understands what Eames is saying perfectly. (Which could indicate that this Eames is just a projection of his… _or_ that he’s come to understand Eames quite well through the years.)

“Not the kind of ‘job’ you mean,” he replies. “He says he’ll go back to legal dream research. Maybe even real life architecture.”

Arthur hears the bitterness in his own words. _He_ can’t go back to his old life; the military is not known for welcoming deserters back with open arms.

“Pity,” Eames says. “He was the best extractor. And _you’re_ the best point man. I hope you don’t plan to leave too.”

Arthur already knows that Eames thinks him the best at what he does. Dom has told him. But he hasn’t heard it from Eames’ himself, until now. Is this Arthur putting words he knows Eames has said into his projection’s mouth, or the real Eames _actually_ giving Arthur a compliment _without_ wrapping it up in an insult?

Arthur can’t tell, but at least he’s managed to check his totem by now. Its weight and size are correct. That _should_ mean that this is his dream, but…

“I’m not sure I can trust my totem around you, _thief_ ,” he says. “You may have pocketed it any time.”

Eames chuckles.

“You’ve trusted me with your life,” he says, another non sequitur answer.

Arthur, in turn, replies in his usual way: earnestly.

“Yeah. And I would again. Doesn’t mean I trust you not to be an asshole.”

Eames chuckles again. Then his eyes start to wander around the room, and soon he rises to do the same.

If Eames is the dreamer, that would mean that _he’s_ the one who constructed the room. That, in turn, would mean that he’s been in Arthur’s real home. The thought is utterly disconcerting. But if that’s the case, he’s making a good act of seeing the flat for the first time. Then again, Eames is a good actor…

In any case Arthur feels scrutinised, almost assaulted, by the way that Eames takes a step closer to inspect the Francis Bacon prints on his walls. Arthur’s home was never meant for Eames’ prying eyes, projection or no.

Finally, Eames step back from the prints and turns around to face Arthur again.

“So this is where you live, under the name of Sanders,” he says.

“What?” Arthur isn’t following. “‘Sanders’ is actually my real last name, not that people tend to remember it.”

Eames makes a little noise, but Arthur doesn’t know what it means. He thinks Eames looks slightly appalled, though.

“Like in Winnie the Pooh?” Eames says. “No? ‘Winnie-the-Pooh lived in a forest all by himself under the name of Sanders. It means he had the name over the door in gold letters, and lived under it.’”

The quote stirs something in Arthur’s memory. Yes, his mother used to read to him from the Winnie-the-Pooh books when he was a boy. And they used to laugh about the fact that the bear ‘lived’ under their own surname. _Damnit_. If Arthur can remember having the book read to him, that means that his subconscious could quote it to him. And _that_ means that the quote doesn’t prove that Eames isn’t a projection.

“If you are real, then how did you get access to me?” Arthur asks, trying to surprise Eames into saying something that would reveal whether he’s a projection or not.

Eames answers in a heartbeat.

“Aaah, it’s actually quite a funny story. Cobb sent me. He has a notion that this would be good for you. And I think Ariadne may be involved somehow too. Perceptive girl, she is.”

“Why would Cobb want us to dreamshare?” Arthur asks.

Eames hesitates a moment, biting his lower lip. Then he looks straight into Arthur’s eyes and takes a step closer. A threat? Arthur tenses up.

“I’m your… treat,” he says, his tone definitely saying 'taunt' more than 'threat,' but the two have always been all but interchangable when it comes to Eames. “You’ve always been a loyal dog, and now you’ve learned a new trick and helped your master get home to his children. But how should the master reward his ‘good dog’? The dog used to want nothing more than to jump into his master’s bed…”

It’s only after Arthur has already punched him that he realizes that Eames’ voice had been trailing off even before he started to rise from his chair. Eames had expected Arthur’s reaction, and still let him punch him. So maybe he _is_ a projection after all. Arthur rubs his eyes. This is all too confusing. Eames, for his part, is now sitting on Arthur’s bed again, rubbing his cheek.

“Where was I?” he asks. Somehow he’s _still smiling_.

Arthur doesn't answer, he just sits back down into his chair too.

“Oh, yes,” Eames goes on, flashing teeth almost as white as Nousha’s. (Arthur always liked white teeth.) “The ‘good dog’. Well, the master knew about this… other dog… Bah, this metaphor is getting daft.”

“Are you saying that Cobb wants me to start doing extraction jobs with you?” Arthur asks. He has a feeling that that _isn’t_ what Eames is saying.

“Nah… not exactly. _I’m saying that Cobb wants you to fuck me._ Or that he thinks we want to fuck each other, at least… Haven’t you noticed that he smiles when I tease you? Oh, he hides it quickly enough, but it’s there. I’ve seen it.”

That’s the sort of thing Eames _would_ notice.

“And,” Eames goes on, “I’m not wholly opposed to letting our relationship develop in that direction.” He seals the sentence with a wink and a quick kiss in the air.

There’s no way Arthur could rationalize that as _not flirting_ , as he usually does with Eames’ jabs and ‘darlings.’

“Wait a second…” Arthur says, a thought suddenly striking him. “Are you trying to _incept_ me?”

“Hm,” Eames says. He looks mildly impressed. “That’s an interesting thought, for sure. But let’s put it like this: there are two possibilities. Either I’m the dreamer, or I’m just a projection.”

“Yeah, thanks, we’ve been through this,” Arthur says. He’s getting a little hopeful. Projections often repeat themselves.

“No, let me finish,” Eames says. “If I’m a projection, things are pretty straightforward – your subconscious – I, that is, – is telling you that you want to fuck me.”

Arthur starts to protest, but Eames just waves a dismissive hand, shutting him up.

“Oh, come now, _darling_. You know you do.”

Arthur just shrugs, and leans back in his chair. He’s decided to let the dream run his course and listen to whatever this Eames has to say. He’ll know what’s what when he wakes up.

“The more interesting possibility,” Eames goes on, “is that I’m real. In that case I’m making a valiant effort to fool you into thinking that I am a projection… but of course I can’t fool your _actual_ subconscious, so it wouldn’t _really_ be inception. But if I’m right regarding you already wanting to fuck me – and I really, really hope I am – I wouldn’t need any ‘real’ inception, because then you already _do_ want to fuck me. Er, did you follow that?”

“Yes,” Arthur replies. “But you failed to mention the possibility that we’re in a dream within a dream, and you’ve set my projection of you up to say this on the top layer… and this _is_ an actual inception.”

Now Eames looks _really_ impressed.

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t even think of that possibility. Maybe you do have some imagination after all...” For a moment Eames is silent, looking almost thoughtful (the look doesn't suit him), but he quickly finds his wits again. “But do you really think I’d do something as horribly immoral as that?”

Arthur stares at him in disbelief.

“Uh, _yes_ ,” he says.

“You wound me,” Eames replies, smiling his easy smile.

Then he checks his watch.

“Oh… time’s running out,” he says. “So, what's it gonna be? I think we'll have time for a quick kiss, if nothing else....”

 _Ah, damn it all_ , Arthur thinks, and starts to rise from his chair. Then music starts to play.

“ _Non... rien de rien  
Non je ne regrette rien_ ”

It’s such a romantic cliché, except it isn’t. The music is Arthur’s cue to wake up.

“Wait…” he says, leaning back in his chair again. He can already feel the unmistakable sensation of _waking up_. “If you’re just a projection, then what do I do?”

“Come seek me out,” Eames replies. The 'obviously' is silent.

“And how can I be sure that we actually have a shot, and that you won't be a jackass about the whole thing?”

“You can’t,” Eames says with a wink. “But we do.”


End file.
